Magic

Oh, please, please, high crowned magician, that’s come to town with the circus, with upturned moustache like a royal Persian, oh how I counted days wondrous Marcus, that surely is your name mister mystery man, holding night’s dreams in broad light, do cull and curl a blue mist from your silver pan, rendering science wrong than right, oh yes please, most strange and powerful gifted one, with a hand’s dip in your hat’s deep, and a left finger’s hush in dramatic warn, come fill my eyes with a drunken sip, once again, turn dream’s key with abracadabra, to fly fairy winged butterflies and bunnies, blue, green, white and even silver, yes abracadabra, taking me into wonderland on flying ponies, magic man snap and dip in your great inspiration, let them come like dust in my attic, for my fascination will never be called hallucination, I’ll never call it trickery but plain magic.